Project Freelancer:Calamity
by kagehisa
Summary: Red.Vs.Blue Reconstruction. Ever wonder if Washington wasn't the first Freelancer to search through Blood Gulch? Look no further. This time around, the Meta won't be up against amatuers. Look further into Project Freelancer, and you'll see how it all bega


**Disclaimer: I don't own Halo or Red vs. Blue...Dammit!!**

**Project Freelancer: Calamity**

MJOLNIR Armor. State of the art cybernetic combat suit with performance-enhancing technology above and beyond more powerful than even the Special Forces branch of the Earth's military. Developed by the race of super humans bred for warfare and killing, the Spartans, this armor was designed specifically for open and violent combat. Every integrating plate of armor could withstand almost any caliber of ammunition ever made, where even claymore mines and explosives would be shrugged off as nothing more than a troublesome breeze.

Eric only wished he had such equipment at his use, but sadly, had only the standard replica equipment –which had been analyzed and copied from Master Chief, the last surviving Spartan- to prep for his first mission as a Freelancer. He had the Mark IV Model, dark gray with bright blue shoulder panels.

Designated as Michigan, he and two other Freelancers, Virginia and Vermont, were assigned to investigate the disappearances of Freelancer Agents Texas and Wyoming. Head Quarters already knew Agent Texas and Wyoming were on the same planet where Teams Red and Blue were fighting in a simulation test ground called Blood Gulch.

It came as an unexpected surprise that Project Freelancer, a special military unit comprising of mercenaries implanted with experimental A.I. programs to do the clean ups and recoveries for selective targets, suddenly found itself under investigation by the Recovery Squad of the Federal Military Bureau, under orders from the Director himself. Something about Freelancers becoming targeted for their equipment and A.I. programs, as all the victims found on several scenes had their special equipment and A.I. programs removed -from their dead bodies.

One such incident –and Mich could only guess as to when it happened, since the incident hadn't been time logged- involved Agent Washington acting as Recovery I on a secret mission to recover any and all A.I. programs in distress, when another undercover Freelance operative, Recovery II, or otherwise known as South Dakota, shot Agent Washington in the back to escape…whatever it was attacking them.

This information had thus been classified as Top-Secret, known only to a few of the most trusted Freelancers in the program. Who knew if this news would have adverse effects on any of the Freelance members if they heard about one of their own suddenly turning Rogue? The news would be devastating.

Michigan felt no sympathy for either Agent Washington or, presumably, South Dakota, considering Washington would likely seek to settle the score between them after her betrayal. If anyone had the insensibility to trust a stranger with a potentially unstable mind, that's their problem.

Especially someone having experimental A.I. implanted into them.

'_Then again, I've no luxury to judge.'_

Suddenly Mich felt the UNSC Pelican Dropship disengage from the Longsword Interceptor's connective docking couplings, separating it from the main ship in a staggering rattle, jostling Michigan and his Freelancer partners as the dropship fell into the planet's gravity field. At least he and his partners were secured in their seats by steel pole bars as they descended into the planet's atmosphere.

A female voice spoke over the intercom speakers, partially static. "Now entering planet's atmosphere. T-minus 200 seconds before reaching dropping point. Ready your equipment and weapons. Out."

Scratching at his spiky auburn hair, Michigan secured his helmet over his head and gripped his 55HB semi-auto Battle Rifle, double-checked his 51 mm FMJ (Full Metal Jacket) clips, as well as his M6G semi-auto Magnum sidearm holstered at his hip. Spike Grenades, shield grenades, Claymores, and Plasma Sword.

Yep, all essentials accounted for.

* * *

"This planet feels too damn quiet."

Aside from Virg's comment, which sounded loud to Mich's sensitive ears, it was dead silent all around the three Freelancers. As soon as the Pelican dropship dropped them off their checkpoint and left to return to the Interceptor, Michigan did a scan of the area using his motion tracker while Vermont used thermographic scans around them, searching for any fresh heat sources that might be tracks or bodies. Virginia was standing guard, leveling his S99D Sniper Rifle and checking their travel route by scope. So far, so good; no trouble.

Michigan spoke through the voice intercom. "I'll scout ahead. Virg, you're my eyes in case something tries to sneak up on me. Vermont, stay with Virg and watch his back. I'll check and see if there's any danger before giving the go-ahead."

Virginia and Vermont nodded, understanding their duties. Nearly a foot taller than Michigan, largely broad shouldered and muscular, Virginia wore an off-white Hayabusa Armor model with gleaming eye visors and red shoulder plates. More of a military grunt than a disciplined gun-for-hire, he liked using the best and most explosive firepower at his disposal. Stealth wasn't exactly his forte, but he made up for that with expert precision when taking out enemy targets. He was given the option of becoming a Freelancer once he served his quota in the military by one of his more "military-smart" colleges, and has been one for almost ten years.

Vermont, about the same size and build as Mich, wore a dark blue CQB (Close Quarters Combat) Armor with a T-shaped gleaming helmet visor and yellow shoulder plates. More of a strategist and combat analyst, his choice of weapons were standard M6G Magnum and M7 Submachine Gun. He'd actually been a combat analyst for the military before he was discharged on suspicion for aiding a wanted Rogue soldier with top-secret information, though there was little to no evidence to give him an official tribunal, thus he resigned on his own volition to avoid further trouble with the higher-ups in military command who, however unlikely, tried to frame him for a cover-up. He'd been a Freelancer for almost five years now.

Michigan himself was only five years a member of Project Freelancer, though acting a short time mercenary beforehand had given him enough experience to earn his place in the ranks. The only problem he'd faced thus far was about his young age –he enrolled as a Freelancer at 16 years old- and had to endure some of the older "more experienced" Freelancers mocking his youth about how out of place he was in their organization.

Mich scouted ahead, keeping his body bent low with his Battle Rifle leveled. He paned back and forth, searching for any signs of movement. Nothing. Just a grass covered plain with dirt trails, a few pine tree here and there, and several large boulders dotting the area within a boxed canyon.

Falling into a crouch beside a large boulder, Mich activated his radio intercom. "All clear. Proceed-"

A gunshot suddenly rang out, whistling above Mich's head and making the rock chip into dust. It was only instinct that made Mich roll backward behind the boulder, using it as his shield. He switched the safety off his rifle and leveled it at the source of the sound.

A voice suddenly spoke over his radio transceiver. "Mich, what the fuck was that?! Are you injured?" Definitely Virg.

"I'm fine. We've got roiled hosts and their packin' heavy ammo. Vermont, give me the trajectory of the shot fired." Another round whistled past Mich's head, heralded by a thunderous crack. These guys had a sniper rifle.

Vermont spoke through the intercom. "Located shooters. At your 11 O'clock, 24 degrees longitude. Two enemies; one sniper, the other sporting a Spiker –dunno _where_ the _fuck_ the bastard got that thing- and both are wearing red armor. Virg has them on scope and waiting for your command."

"Send them a thank you card and hit the fuckers between the eyes. Give their visors a new ventilation hole."

The second the intercom switched off, two consecutive gun shots rang out through the air, followed by dead silence. "Got them, Mich. Dropped them like lead weights. They ain't getting' back up anytime soon. You're all clear."

"Thanks Virg. And good shootin'. I give ya 20 points for both kills." Virginia's chuckle carried over the intercom, making Michigan smile. That big man could find anything funny.

Vermont suddenly spoke to Michigan over the intercom. "Hey, Mich. You might want to inform Command of our encounter with some trigger-happy baddies."

"I'll call Command and inform them if we encounter anything we didn't expect. You didn't think we'd be given a warm welcoming party on our arrival, did you?" At Vermont's silence, Mich smirked smugly. "Thought not."

The Freelancers continued on, checking the bodies of the Red Simulation Troopers. Virg's aim remained uncannily accurate when they spotted the single hole at the center of each body's helmet visor, right between the eyes.

Except, on closer inspection, the helmet's themselves looked like they'd been previously damaged, and deliberately. The radio coms were forcefully ripped out from the outside, likely from the Trooper's own hands by the looks of the grooves along the helmet's side panels around the mouthpiece.

"Ever seen anything like this?" Vermont asked Mich, after finalizing their inspection.

"I've never seen anything remotely close to this. Fuckers either started going crazy or…maybe they were trying to cut communications to protect themselves from something."

"Okay, but what?"

"Fuck if I know. Could've been anything: Virus, maybe. Hell, maybe their radios kept getting intercepted by someone and used them to track down the Troopers and kill them off. I can only guess."

Virginia slapped Mich's shoulder, getting his attention. "Hey guys. Let's check Red Base and see if their Com Tower's still working. Maybe they got transmission logs to look through, see what happened."

"Good idea. Let's do it and say it was mine if it works." Mich punched Vermont's shoulder roughly. "Ow! A joke, a joke! Jeez. I get no respect."

Virg's idea, while sound, held only disappointment upon finding the Red Base. They saw the smoke rising in the sky like a dark bruise long before sighting the actual compound and figured the Reds were either burning something or one their machines were smoking due to a malfunction.

Neither scenario was what met the Freelancers. The compound had several columns of smoke billowing from inside and out, mostly wreckage from some kind of explosive destroying vehicles and computer equipment. Over a dozen or more red-armored bodies occupied the area outside the walls of the small fortress with bullet-casings littered around the fallen Troopers. Worse still, the Com Tower was ripped down and left as a twisted pile of metal.

Mich began inspecting the bodies, finding numerous bullet holes in every Trooper's armor in a sporadic pattern suggesting more panic than actual disciplined aim, meaning everyone was shooting at everyone else around them. The tracks around the bodies confirmed Mich's assessment, finding the foot depressions in the dirt were scuffed, like the gun men kept twisting side to side to attack everyone else around them. They, like the first two –and recently last surviving- Red Troopers the mercenaries encountered, the radio coms were ripped out from around the mouthpiece.

Vermont frowned behind the visor of his helmet. "Something's not right here. Why did they destroy all their communication equipment? And why did they kill each other? You think some kinda viral infection making them go insane?"

Mich shrugged, trying to fight down his growing unease. "Th' Fuck knows. They're all dead and we can't question any of them. Their Com Tower's destroyed and their computer equipment's totaled. We have no leads to go on for an investigation, but we already have our orders to search for Agents Texas and Wyoming. Let's check inside Red Base for clues."

Despite his calm and collected tone, Mich couldn't help but feel something was wrong –very wrong- about all this. His guts kept twisting together anxiously, his trigger finger kept twitching and straying toward the trigger on his rifle, and every sound seemed too loud to his suddenly hypersensitive hearing, as if expecting someone –or something- to jump out and attack him and his partners by surprise.

Thankfully, Mich managed to calm himself while he, Vermont and Virginia started their search through the compound. As expected, all the computer equipment was trashed beyond repair and few systems –like the door opening/closing mechanisms and basic utilities- were still operational. At least their helmets had special visualgraphs in their visors to allow them to search through the lightless corridors and rooms since the lights weren't even working.

Michigan passed an open room where something caught his eye, making him stop. He entered the room for a closer look. The room was either an Operating Room for medical purposes, or a body storage area by the looks of several blue-armored bodies lying face-up on operating tables.

But they were the least of his present concerns. On one of the operating tables was the standard-issue dark gray, almost black Mark IV modal armor with yellow shoulder panels. The armor was unmistakably a Freelancers, considering only a Freelancer was permitted to use black armor, and Mich knew exactly one –and only one- other Freelancer that ever wore dark armor which came to Blood Gulch.

Agent Texas. She was here. Or at least, her_ armor_ was here. But where was her body?

Something nagged at Mich's instincts the longer he stared at Tex's discarded armor, something out of place. His eyes widened by a fraction when it finally came to him. He strode over to the table, holstered his rifle at his back, and lifted the black helmet with both hands while his system scanner inspected the internal circuitry and hardware equipment.

His fears were confirmed. The cloaking device which allowed Tex's armor to turn invisible was gone, as was the A.I. program O'Malley which Tex had been given during the start of the A.I. implantation experiment with Project Freelancer.

Only someone who knew that equipment was there could know where it was and how to extract it.

Only another Freelancer had such hands-on knowledge.

A glimmer of white caught Michigan's eyes, compelling him to turn around and see what it was. A white helmet –a Mark IV model like his and the one he held- stared back at him blankly.

"Wyoming."

Mich didn't even notice how hushed his voice became when he spoke, dropping the useless black helmet before picking up the white one. Even as his system scanner inspected it, the Freelancer knew he wouldn't find anything in this one either. His scanner just confirmed the ex-Freelancer's temporal distortion unit was gone.

Michigan's breath started coming in ragged gasps, frantically looking back and forth across the room, terrified. Whoever had taken Tex and Wyoming's equipment could very well be in the room right then and be watching him without his knowing, waiting to deal the lethal blow. His mind flashed back to the mission where Washington had been attacked by some unknown entity –code named "the Meta"- using a cloaking device before Agent South Dakota shot him and left him for dead.

If he wasn't mistaken –and he prayed he was, but logic denied him that minor hope- then that same entity was here in Blood Gulch.

The Meta.

He gripped his rifle and brought it bear, leveling it for attack. He had to warn Virg and Vermont before it was too late.

Mich all but ran down the halls to reach outside the complex, initializing his motion tracker for any movement with his finger on the trigger. He touched his intercom, thankful his voice was calm and even in spite of his growing apprehension. "Virg, Vermont. Meet me outside."

Virginia and Vermont emerged from the square entrance only two minutes later, finding Michigan already waiting for them.

"I've found Agents Texas and Wyoming –well, actually, just their armors; their bodies weren't there- and…Well, I'm not going to sugar-coat it guys, we're in some seriously deep shit. Tex's cloaking device and Wyoming's temporal distortion unit were removed along with the O'Malley A.I. program. Whoever removed it is most likely using them and-"

"Mission Recovery I," Vermont gasped, immediately seeing their problem. "It's the same thing, isn't it? The Meta. Wash said something about fighting a guy but like he was invisible. It never occurred to me he was using Tex's cloaking device."

"And that same guy –whoever he is- is still in Blood Gulch, right now. We need to find a defensible position and fast before he gets here."

"What makes you think the Meta will come here, Mich?" Virg asked.

"The gun shots from earlier. It might've attracted his attention and- Fuck! Who the hell couldn't have heard it?! We're in a goddamn canyon; it must've carried for miles!- We gotta get outta here and fast. We're wasting time here." Mich knew he must seem deranged at that moment, blabbering about while any minute, the Meta could be stalking them.

"And furthermore, stay together and avoid using your intercoms as much as possible. This bastard might be able to intercept our signals and track us down." Mich turned to address Virg, except when he faced the big man, his bod language revealed only shell-shocked fear.

Mich hesitated for just an instant, but it seemed to last minutes. Virg took his sniper rifle by the long barrel and swung around like a club, hitting Mich's shoulder and throwing him to the side. Mich hit the dirt on his side, rifle flying from his numb grip, just as a blasting Boom! cracked from somewhere behind him.

Dazed, Mich could do nothing as he watched Virg fly back from a miniature explosion just around his arm. The aforementioned appendage was blasted off Virg's shoulder –and destroyed his sniper rifle- before it twirled away nearly ten meters. Virg hit the ground on his back, hard enough that even Michigan could hear the crunch of breaking bones in his dazed state.

That didn't stop him from drawing his holstered side arm, twisting around and squeezing the trigger five times in rapid succession at the shimmering figure leveling a heavy grenade launcher with a broad-curved blade at its bottom –also called "Brute Shot"- hitting him twice in the head and three on the torso.

Mich might have smiled in satisfaction for at least wounding the bastard, except he suddenly blinked out of existence.

But not before the figure dropped the invisibility and revealed the white EVA (Extra Vehicular Armor) with a gleaming, bulb-like helmet visor.

Mich swore he'd remember him –and promised to finish what he failed to do.

Vermont was on the ground, leaning on his hands and visibly trembling –with fear, anger, or just his veins pumping adrenalin- but thankfully unharmed. Mich staggered to his feet, passing him without a word and kneeling next to Virginia, checking for a pulse.

Virg was still alive, but barely, and he wouldn't last much longer. The wound where his arm was blasted off his shoulder was pumping too much blood to staunch, and none of the Freelancers had the sufficient medical supplies to treat it.

Virg turned his head to face Mich, a task almost too difficult in his wounded state. His right arm –his only arm left, Michigan corrected himself- managed to lift his helmet off his head to look Mich strait in the eye, revealing his chiseled features, square jaw and shaved scalp. Michigan didn't know whether to hate or applaud him for that gesture as he stared back into Virg's brown eyes.

Virg's voice was weak and his breathing was labored as he spoke. "H-he-he got me, m-Mich. G-got me good. B-but that's all—alright. 'Saved ya. Th-that's what m-matters. And you got 'im. Got-got-"

"Shut up", Mich commanded, gripping his hand with Virg's. "Save your energy. You're not dying now, not out here. Just keep still."

The big man smiled, so sadly Mich tightened his grip in Virg's hand. "Don't let it b-be for n-nothin', Mich. Kill him, but be c-careful." Virg's face was paling with each breath, even his grip was slackening. "T-tell me it…wasn't for n-nothing. Tell me that –that you'll f-finish the mission."

Mich didn't speak for several heartbeats, before deciding to use his free hand to remove his helmet and looked his friend in the eye as he died. He owed him that much for saving his life.

"It won't be for nothing. I will finish the mission. And I promise to give that bastard the retribution he deserves for what he's done. Just…rest now. We'll finish your fight. Just rest."

For a moment, Virg's face held only a serene contentment. "It's…been…a…honor…Eric."

When Virg took his last breath, Mich closed the Freelancer's glassy eyes closed. "Yeah. You too, Jim. Safe journey to the skies."

After securing the helmet on Agent Virginia–AKA Jim Dern - Mich activated the detonation sequence code on the fallen merc's armor. Standard Recovery Procedure dictated total disposal of the fallen bodies as well as all Freelancer equipment, should they fall into the wrong hands.

"Come on, Vermont." Michigan called over his shoulder, standing up and striding away from Virg's body as his armor began its detonation sequence by the audible beeping. Mich didn't wait for the combat analyst to catch up, just looked straight ahead, waiting for the explosion soon to follow. Vermont reached his side just as the detonation sequence ended and an ear-splitting explosion blasted behind them, leaving only a mushroom cloud of Virginia's remains.

Mich activated his intercom, tuning the signal for HQ. "Come in Command. This is Recovery Squad 7 reporting. Do you read me?"

A female voice replied over the intercom, clear and undisrupted by static. "This is Command; we read you Recovery 7. What do you need?" Mich sighed under his breath, grateful HQ managed to receive his signal.

"Requesting immediate assistance. Agent Virginia is now K.I.A. We've encountered the Meta; repeat, we've encountered the Meta."

There was a pause on the other end. "Are you sure?"

Mich nearly cursed at the woman, but held his tongue. Barely. "I'm sending you the video feed from my helmet. It'll confirm my report. Sending video feed now."

While Mich was transmitting the video footage of the brief attack, his thoughts were roaming everywhere at once trying to sort together every detail of the clues he found in and out of Red Base.

Thus far, the Red Troopers were found dead, having killed each other, not by the Meta, and destroyed their communication equipment. Tex's armor and Wyoming's helmet were found, both without either their respective bodies or equipment –meaning the Meta was in full possession of the missing Freelancers' special devices, and the A.I. programs were most likely taken as well. 'Must've been how the fucker disappeared; he used Wyoming's temporal distortion unit to accelerate himself and escape. But why didn't the bastard kill us?'

One thing didn't make sense. What was the Meta actually after? And did he have any other equipment units taken from other Freelancers? How many?

"Video footage received, Agent Michigan. Sighting of Meta confirmed. We'll be sending you some backup within a week's time-"

"That's bullshit!" Mich snarled, cutting off Command's reply. "Do you mean to tell me there's no one you can send that's even close to Blood Gulch? What about from the Project Freelancer facility itself? It's only, what, fifty miles from our current position-"

"There's no one there. We've had to evacuate the facility and move all our personnel to an orbiting space station to avoid having any more of our soldiers from getting caught by the Meta. We've also had to relocate the A.I.s to another location, but I'm forbidden to disclose their whereabouts."

"I don't give a rat's piss about the damn A.I.s. I need back-up, ground support. Isn't there anyone?"

The Command woman was quiet for several tense seconds before answering. "We do have one operative left, but-"

"Tell me who, please." Michigan knew he sounded desperate, but he needed to fight the Meta with every available hand possible. He had to.

"We're sending Agent Washington to rendezvous with your squad by Sector B-17 Blue Base. Take refuge there until he arrives. He should be there within a few days."

"Thank you, Command. Recovery 7, out." Once the link was cut, Mich turned to Vermont. "Come on. Let's get to Blue Base and wait for our back-up. Hopefully we'll last long enough to kill the Meta bastard."

* * *

Nearly ten miles away, a man-shaped shimmer flickered in the air around the top of a large cliff-face from a mountain-side tunnel. A walk-path of natural stone extended from the tunnel opening to the other side of the steep cliff toward the abandoned power supply facility.

The Meta dropped the cloaking device and the shimmering transparent barrier fell off like water sliding off of chrome, like it melted away. Drops of red dripped off the Meta's armor plating onto the dirt; from its torso mostly, though one bullet managed to graze his temple and open a shallow cut across his brow.

The Meta silently cursed to itself, though the only sound that came from its throat was a clicking trill, a mix between a hiss and a purr. Having absorbed so many different A.I.s had nearly reduced his mental facilities to dust, but he still had some clarity of mind to keep himself from dying. He pulled out his first-aid kit and removed his chest plate to tend to his wounds.

Once he was done, then he'd kill the Freelancers. And anyone else in his way.


End file.
